The Super Giant Corporation (3)
Thanks to Serget’s speech, the party’s atmosphere reached its peak. With every trace of tension dissolved, Leo moved among the guests with effortless grace.
“Come now! On a magnificent day like this, how can one toast possibly be enough?”
Chairman Farrar, already well past tipsy, commandeered the podium without being asked and bellowed to the room.
“Our Director Leo here is like a thoroughbred champion! Bloodline? Who cares about that nonsense? What matters is how well he runs and how perfectly he syncs with his rider!”
It began promisingly enough—ability-based society, talent appointed without prejudice, the occasional underdog racehorse beating the blue-bloods. Leo was already nodding, ready to call it an exemplary speech that cleverly compared horse racing to real life.
Until it continued.
“Therefore Serget Cotton must ride this momentum and invest even more aggressively in the horse-racing industry! Just as a fine horse meets a fine jockey, excellent capital must find an excellent stable…”
“Sigh. There it is.”
“Mr. Chairman! Come down and have a drink!”
“Get off the stage!”
The audience erupted in laughter at the speech that had, inevitably, ended exactly where everyone knew it would.
The mood was light, warm, and utterly free of tension. Yet a few guests still stood rigid, unable to bend their proud necks.
“Do I really have to greet him? I come from a distinguished family, for God’s sake…”
“Are you out of your mind?”
His wife mercilessly slapped her hesitant husband on the back.
“Don’t you see that line? Even New York assemblymen and Democratic congressmen are queued up to shake his hand! You think you’re better than them?”
“Well, no… that’s not what I meant…”
“Will your pride feed us? If you get on Serget Cotton’s bad side and ruin our business, are you going to take responsibility? Now get over there and bow that stubborn head!”
“All right, all right! I’m going!”
Propelled forward by his wife, the man finally approached Leo wearing the most obsequious, polite smile the world had ever seen.
“Heh heh, Director. Happy birthday, sir. My wife says she was stunned by how handsome you are in person.”
“Thank you. I’m the one who should be grateful that you came all this way.”
Humans really do adapt. At first, receiving flattery from white men had felt unbearably awkward. Now it was becoming natural—and that fact itself frightened Leo.
As he was chuckling at his own transformation, two familiar figures approached, bickering even now.
“Thank you both for coming. Are you enjoying yourselves?”
“Of course. But Leo, a rational and reasonable man like you should choose his friends carefully. Especially keep away from that barbaric labor-thug boss. Bad influences rub off, you know.”
“Look who’s talking. Leo, a man of action who went all the way to Asia and brought back new business—how could he possibly communicate with a Sunday-school teacher like you?”
The two Northern giants jabbed fingers at each other, growling. They had come all the way to another man’s birthday party just to continue their feud.
Leo smiled awkwardly and stepped between them, offering the appropriate diplomatic flattery.
“You are both men I respect and wish to emulate. Please, no fighting.”
“Hmph. If you say so.”
Rockefeller accepted a glass with an exaggeratedly solemn expression.
“I normally never touch alcohol… but since this is your day, I’ll make an exception. Just one sip, then I’ll rinse my mouth.”
Even the iron-willed Rockefeller was breaking his own rules. That alone showed exactly how highly Leo was regarded.
Not to be outdone, Carnegie laughed heartily, threw an arm around Leo’s shoulders, and pulled him into a tight embrace.
“That’s the spirit! This is what men do! The right arm and left arm of Chairman Serget—let’s keep getting along from now on! Happy birthday, my friend!”
“I agree that Leo is the right arm, but who said you could claim to be the left?”
As the guests grew increasingly drunk and the banquet hall reached its zenith, a staff member came running, panting.
“Director! A telegram and gift have arrived from Washington!”
Leo’s hands trembled slightly as he checked the sender.
From the President of the United States, Abraham Lincoln
The moment the unexpected name echoed through the room, the noisy, alcohol-fueled atmosphere fell silent in an instant.
“Wait… who?”
“Lincoln? The President sent a gift?”
“Open it! Hurry!”
With trembling fingers Leo opened the box. Inside lay a luxurious fountain-pen set and a congratulatory telegram bearing the presidential seal.
“I commend your dedication, which has become the bridge connecting South and North. Our nation is proud to call a talent like you its own.”
“Waaaaah!”
“The pride of the South! Leo!”
The banquet hall erupted in thunderous cheers.
No matter how many Southerners disliked Lincoln, a personal congratulatory message from the sitting president was on an entirely different level. The man currently enjoying the most fervent support since Washington possessed undeniable power and influence.
Even the stubborn old traditionalists who had held out until the end crumbled before the sheer weight of Lincoln’s name.
“Director! May I offer you a drink as well?”
“Oh dear, I had a stomachache and had to visit the restroom… Congratulations!”
A surreal scene unfolded as everyone rushed forward, desperate to build even the slightest connection with Leo.
The party that would later be recorded as a turning point for the South finally drew to a close. As the gentlemen prepared to leave, a small group of familiar faces gathered around a table.
Leo, Ben, Henry, and Jonathan.
With the brilliant lights dimmed and silence settling over the hall, a slightly drunk Jonathan toyed absently with an empty glass.
“On such a wonderful day… it would have been nice if Mark could have been here with us.”
Those quiet words instantly sobered the buoyant atmosphere.
How could they ever forget?
Even when they were all old men on their deathbeds decades from now, the Battle of Jackson Capitol would remain vivid in their memories. Their eternal friend who had followed Serget more devotedly than anyone, who had willingly thrown away his life for Serget’s glory.
Ben nodded with a bitter smile.
“You’re right. He especially looked up to Director Jonathan. Always grumbling, yet taking care of you like an older brother.”
“Well, those of us who survived must remember him. Sorry for bringing up such a gloomy topic on a day like this.”
“Not at all, Captain. Mark’s probably watching from heaven right now. Maybe he’s clutching his stomach in jealousy, muttering, ‘Wow, Leo’s really made it.’”
“Hahaha. Captain? That was a long time ago. It’s Director now.”
They were about to share one last drink over old memories when steady footsteps approached from across the hall.
“Talking about Mark?”
It was Serget.
He had spent the entire evening yielding the spotlight to Leo and staying in the background. Now he loosened his tie and walked over.
“Chairman.”
The four men began to rise, but Serget waved them back down, pulled over an empty chair, and sat naturally among them.
He picked up the whiskey bottle on the table and filled his own glass.
“There’s one resolution I made back then.”
Serget’s gaze drifted into the distant past.
“I will never again let any of my people—any of you—die so meaninglessly. No matter who it is, no matter the circumstances.”
“Chairman…”
Serget gave a small smile and looked at Jonathan.
“Now that I think about it, you and I buried Mark together. It still feels so vivid.”
“That bastard was damn heavy. Even in death he made us work for it.”
Jonathan’s eyes reddened.
“Yes… he was heavy. As heavy as the life he had lived.”
Serget silently raised his glass.
Behind all the dazzling success, wealth, and power lay the sacrifices of those who had gone first and the sweat of those who remained. He would never forget that.
“Let’s have a toast among ourselves. To our friend who went ahead and is watching over us.”
Leo, Ben, Henry, and Jonathan lifted their glasses.
“To him.”
“To Mark!”
The clear, bright ring of crystal glass meeting crystal glass echoed through the empty banquet hall, cutting through the silence.
It had been the most brilliant, and at the same time the warmest, night—and now it was quietly drawing to a close.
The party had ended and most of the guests had left, but the night was not yet over.
After paying our respects to Mark together, I opened the door to the small conference room attached to the banquet hall.
“Oh! Chairman Serget. You’ve arrived.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Not at all. We took a walk outside to sober up a little and just came back in.”
Chairman Farrar and the key members of the Southern Democrats were sunk into plush sofas, puffing on cigars. The rowdy, festive mood from earlier had vanished completely. The room now carried a secretive, heavy atmosphere.
“Today’s party was truly remarkable. A birthday celebration for a Black chief of staff, and a congratulatory telegram from President Lincoln himself. I’ve gained a fresh appreciation for just how high Serget Cotton’s status has risen.”
“Indeed. We cannot express how reassuring it is to have such a company in the South.”
The congressmen offered praise in unison.
These were not empty compliments.
They had seen it with their own eyes tonight—the financial power, the mobilization capability, and the connections that reached even into Washington politics. Their eyes gleamed with instinctive fear of being left behind by this massive current, and with anticipation of the benefits they might share if they rode it.
“You flatter me. It is only possible thanks to your support, gentlemen.”
But I had not even reached one-tenth of my ultimate goal. This was precisely the moment to remain humble.
I bowed my head modestly and gestured. Waiting staff placed elegantly wrapped boxes in front of each congressman.
“Just a small token so the journey home won’t be boring.”
“My, my. We came empty-handed and now we’re receiving gifts. I feel rather guilty.”
The moment the congressmen lifted the boxes, their eyebrows twitched. They were heavy. Far too heavy to contain mere sandwiches or fruit. Their mouths curled into satisfied smiles.
Of course they were pleased. Inside each box, crisp bundles of dollars were stacked as neatly as perfectly grilled steaks.
“We are always on Chairman Serget’s side.”
“Absolutely. Only when Serget Cotton continues to grow can the South rise again.”
The congressmen tucked the boxes away carefully, wearing meaningful smiles.
Deposit confirmed. Favorability increased.
Seeing their gazes grow infinitely benevolent, I sat down comfortably before them and brought up the main topic.
“Thank you. There is actually one matter that desperately requires your support, so I feel much more confident now.”
“Just say the word. A bill? Regulatory relief?”
Chairman Farrar leaned forward.
“It’s not a simple bill. I intend to set the board on a much larger scale this time.”
“Set the board… larger?”
“Do you remember? Right after the war ended, those Northern capitalists came down carrying bags of money and bought up our Southern land for pennies. That humiliation.”
The congressmen’s expressions turned fierce in an instant.
The rampage of the carpetbaggers was the ultimate taboo for Dixies. The pride of the South—its very soil—had been snatched away by Yankee hands. The shame ran bone-deep.
“Of course we remember. It is seared into our bones.”
“That is why I intend to repay them.”
I pointed at the map of the United States hanging on the wall, specifically at the northeastern New England coastline.
“An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. They bought our land. Now we will buy their pride.”
“The North’s pride? We can purchase something like that?”
To birth a colossal corporation that would dominate the United States, I needed politicians who would raise their shields for me with all their strength. This was both a way to grow my company and the perfect justification for swallowing Northern industry whole.
“Yes. We are going to seize the Northern whaling industry.”
When a new industry rises, an old one must decline. I wanted to swallow those final remains, and for that the South would have to help me.
After everything I had done for them, they had no choice but to agree.